


Shadows

by nbj



Category: Avatar: The Last Airbender
Genre: Friendship, Gen, Light Angst, Trauma
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-01
Updated: 2019-05-01
Packaged: 2020-02-10 21:38:11
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 761
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18668872
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nbj/pseuds/nbj
Summary: The corridor the Avatar is currently dragging you down is wide and brightly lit with flickering torches, and as you head down the old stone walls, it crosses your mind that your surroundings seem eerily familiar in a way you can’t quite place.It is not a good way, you think.After the war, Aang goes to explore the royal palace with Zuko.





	Shadows

**Author's Note:**

> Yet again, I owe all my thanks to TheDoctorFromTheLibrary, for her proof-reading, patience and honesty which greatly helped to bring this story into its final shape.
> 
> Now, dear reader, I hope you enjoy this small expedition.

The corridor the Avatar is currently dragging you down is wide and brightly lit with flickering torches, and as you head down the old stone walls, it crosses your mind that your surroundings seem eerily familiar in a way you can’t quite place. It is not a good way, you think.

Then, out of the corner of your eye, you see the old murals shift. Startled, you turn your head to focus on the spot, but you have already passed the next torch and the creeping, flickering shadows paint their usual demons on the walls, as they always have. You strain your ear and, as expected, it meets nothing but silence.

Suddenly, dark heavy voices, muffled by thick stone, are carried towards you. Aang must have heard them too because he turns towards your stilled form and asks whether everything is alright. Only then do you realise with horror that the now silent voices came from only your left side, you heard them only with your left ear, and you have not heard with your left ear in many years.

You shake your head, clearing it from shadow demons and long-gone voices, tell Aang to go ahead, that everything is fine, and pray silently that you spoke the truth.

Aang’s light and tapping steps before you, leading you. Your uncle’s heavy and steady steps at your side accompanying you towards those high golden trimmed door wings. Now, like then, obscured by heavy dark curtains. Now, unlike then, there are no guards at the doorsteps. But no guards are needed to hold you back this time, your body takes over their job perfectly. Trembling slightly, in fear of what you know is about to happen, of what you had had no idea would ever, _could_ ever happen, you open your mouth to call out to Aang. That you could explore a different part of the palace, that you know better places, more fun places (because, anywhere, Agni, _anywhere_ would be a _more fun_ place to be than there).

But your body is no longer yours, no longer now, and so all you manage is a choked _No_ before you are bolting down the corridors with its shadowy demons and war waging voices. You do not hear Aang calling after you, worry clear in his words. Neither do you notice the guards you rush by as you come back to the more vivid part of the palace, nor the confused looks they give you. All you know is that you _have to go_ , to go _away_ , to _flee_. To flee or to _die_ , because you cannot fight. And then warm, fresh air hits you full in the face, almost stopping you mid-run, toppling you down four stone steps and your hands hit soft grass. But your knees do not, and it is the stinging burn of rough stone where skin had been a moment before, that finally brings you back to the present.

Slowly you sit back, leaning against the last step’s edge and blink into your mother’s gardens. You still feel disorientated as you let your gaze wander over the familiar scenery. Although you have spent almost as much time out here as you have in the palace behind you over the years since the end of the war, the small oasis presents itself as a miracle to your eyes every time. When Aang finally catches up, you are still sitting against the hard stone, marveling at the mess you have made of the silken red trousers, now white from dust, and your rough white skin, now red from blood. Aang just taps you lightly on the shoulder before rushing to the turtle-duck pond and back with water wrapped around his hands. You are not sure if he wants you to say something, he at least does not, and for that you are grateful. All you do is sit there, letting the surrounding noises anchor you, as you watch the Avatar clean the blood from your knees and the earth from your hands. For a brief moment, you fully expect the water to glow bright, knitting back torn skin, until you remember _who_ of the group sits in front of you. When he finally deems his work done and lifts his hands to place them on your shoulders, he lifts his gaze with them and you are met with…not with anger, not with pity, not with disappointment. Instead, you look at the open trusting face of the Avatar, of Aang, of your _friend_ , you take a deep breath and you tell.


End file.
